


Her Hand

by royalCaprice



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, also drunken-ness, i like working with other people to write things lol, this is sad, tw: very sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 06:07:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2139939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/royalCaprice/pseuds/royalCaprice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life sucks. She's gone, and alcohol is all that you care about anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Her Hand

**Author's Note:**

> this is the product of a collaborative effort  
> we couldn't quite agree on the ending so i wrote a peaceful one and he wrote the not-peaceful one  
> the peaceful one can be found on my Tumblr ( the-capricious.tumblr.com )  
> in the meanwhile, enjoy

The sky was dark, his apartment darker. The taste of whiskey burned his throat, and the thoughts of his love plagued his mind. Why was she gone? It was the question that he couldn’t stop asking himself, and the more he asked, the further from an answer he seemed to be. Where had he gone wrong? “It’s just. I can’t. I do not,” he would always repeat to himself in the abyssal shadows of his bed. No one man can change the world, but one car - one foolish driver - can change a life. Or more so, take one away. The burning worsens as he finishes the bottle of jack, the only friend he had left.  
The burning in his throat could not compare to the burning in his chest. It wasn’t in his heart like stories and idioms always expressed; it was as if there was something literally ripped out of his chest. Like someone had cut his lungs and tied his stomach and left him to be picked off by the birds.

There was no sound in the apartment. Not even the pitter-patter of a bug hitting the window was heard. It was desolate, in a sense. And yet the silence spoke more than any man could scream. After all, what could convey emptiness better than silence? He knew what he had to do, whiskey’s not cheap and the smell of his own self-loathing was slowly becoming more and more unbearable. He grabbed his coat and headed into the cold winter morning.

Where was there to go? The town had been blanketed in snow and every door seemed frozen from the ice. He hadn’t bothered to check what time it was so he didn’t know what was open and what was not. Why not just walk to the store? If it was closed, then he could lay down in the gutter. If not, then he could buy more alcohol in an attempt to cauterize his wounds.

His thoughts were cut short as the scraping of a knife echoed in the alleyway. His hand instinctively ran to his currently-weaponless hip. A streak of fear flew through him like lightning followed shortly by the want of a good fight. The world had been too quiet for his liking, and another brush with death was all he needed to clear his head.  
He could feel the adrenaline began to pump. His cold fingers began to heat up as if he held a flame; the sensation of blood rushing to his toes made him feel alive again. Made him think he was big and strong.

Made him feel invincible, like he wanted to call Death on its shit. And so, with this feeling burning his heart instead of alcohol in his throat, he lifted his head and looked for the source of the knife. There was nothing there. He looked behind him but still didn’t see a person.  
That left to his sides, hidden in the shadows of the morning. But the sound was gone and there was still no person to fight. He gritted his teeth and walked faster. This was not something he was going to let go. He needed to fight. He needed to keep his adrenaline going.

He did not want to return to the hazy depression from which he lived in. It had been too long that he had mourned - he needed to do something. Anything. Anything to keep his thoughts from swallowing him whole again. He might not be whole afterwards. If she could see him now. How sad she would be. A beautiful girl with a beautiful heart, one of a kind, in love with this charming man and his charming smile. How sad she would be at what he’s become. This drunk, broken bastard of a man, living in filth and surviving on nothing but the dust of rock bottom. He felt it leave him, the energy, the fire. Now he was falling, the pavement getting closer and closer. 

The pavement hit his face and he felt his body shut down. Darkness drew over his eyes like a veil and the world began to vanish. A burning came over him, his old friend the sun reminding him how much his life had fallen. He rose, looking around to make sure that only a few audience members witnessed his drunken splendor. Luckily for him, his legs seemed to be the only part of him not to have fallen behind the dumpster, another drunkard to the modern world, lucky him.

How long would his luck last? Could he make it home at the end of his stupidity-driven adventure? The alley didn’t have the answer. A groan escaped his throat as he got to his feet and began to shamble back to his suburban den. The cold air seemed to shun him just as the world might, his shoes scraping on the ground as he shuffled onwards. Block after block, eyes to the ground. Don’t give them any more of a show than you already have. One step, one more, almost there. Maybe halfway. Step, step, step, almost back now. One foot after another, over and over. The land disappeared as he kept going. Nothing seemed to stop him, even cars driving in front of him. The honks could have been the same as the silence of his room for as little of a shit he gave.

After a seeming eternity of walking, he finally reached his apartment. The freezing door handle was quickly opened and passed through and was just-as-quickly shut. The lights remained off as he stripped his warm clothing off, one by one, and climbed into his bed. It was soft. In no time, it would be warm with what little remained of his body heat.  
Sleep overcame him almost instantly. Dreams came and went like breaths of fresh air. He had stumbled upon a small taste of peace. 

There was a crack, and the grasp of sleep was ripped away. His bloodshot eyes flashed open as he saw the intruder running towards him, knife in hand. The kid was fast, but sloppy and he was able to avoid the blade with space to spare. he flew from his bed, clad only in his skin. He looked of the Roman warriors of old, and for the first time in ages, felt like one. The intruder lunged at him but his attack was awkward and slow. He was able to grab the boy’s wrist and land a quick shot to his ribs. The kid dropped only for a moment, but a moment was all he needed. He sent a kick to the side of his opponent’s head, sending him to the floor. The adrenaline was back, the rush of violence ran through his veins. The man was gone, the sad drunk was killed, all that was left was the animal. A vengeful beast with unbridled rage ready to fire at the first thing he saw, and that thing was lying dazed on his floor. he slowly walked forward, relishing each step. He knelt down over his prey and grabbed ahold of his head, a bloodthirsty stare flooding his eyes. He began to squeeze and squeeze. He felt his head give away. And yet, there was another feeling - a warm feeling around his abdomen. The look of fear left his little mugger’s eyes as he slowly climbed off of the ground. The adrenaline left as the shot of pain hit him. How had he not noticed he grabbed the knife? Their positions changed as the boy climbed up and he fell to the ground, the animal had been put down and the man was the only thing left, a weak vincible man. He stared up at the ceiling, his lungs filling with warmth of his own blood. His attacker looked down smugly, his victory evident. He left to collect what little spoils of war were left in the barren apartment. Breathing was painful, but the pain told him he was still alive. He had to tell himself he could make it through this, but why? Everyday he spent killing himself, and now life held weight? He felt something long since forgotten, remorse, and worse, fear.a tear rolled down his face as his body slowly became numb. there was nothing left, this was it. Left to die alone on the floor of a grim apartment. As he lost consciousness, he felt warmth. It was a hand cradling his cheek. He opened his eyes and saw her, in all her kind beauty. He smiled and took her hand.

 

The police were called in the next morning when a neighbor passed by and saw the door broken open. the apartment was empty except for a blanket splayed across the floor and a single body, nude in the middle of the floor. His face was the expression of peace.


End file.
